Valkia the Bloody

by Sarah Cawkwell

  When it was over, when the body ceased twitching and lay still, his eyes staring up at nothing, Valkia looked up at Radek. There was terrible indecision in her face.

  ‘You realise what I must do,’ she said.

  ‘I always knew it would come to this,’ replied the Warspeaker. He sounded calm and in a strange echo of her father’s last gesture, he reached to touch her cheek. ‘I have been ready for this since the day you asked if I would stand with you. I have given you more. I have given you the reason you need to take what rightfully should be yours.’ He dropped his sword and stared directly ahead.

  ‘Radek...’ Valkia stared at the Warspeaker, his scarred, ugly face more dear to her than anything else in her life. And one by one, she took the images and memories she had of him, setting fire to them in her thoughts until they were blown to ash. Any hope she might ever have had for conquering her reluctance to embark on a relationship with Radek was forever lost and she felt nothing for him.

  For Valkia, detaching from her emotions had been that simple.

  ‘You killed my father, Warspeaker,’ she said, speaking in a voice loud enough to be heard by all those present. ‘Such treachery can only be met with one punishment. Do you understand this?’

  ‘I know,’ Radek replied loudly and clearly. ‘I know the punishment and I accept it gladly. It is a small price to pay to rid ourselves of the snivelling weakling he had become.’ He lowered his eyes to Valkia who had drawn her dagger from her belt. Even now there was the faintest glimmer of uncertainty there.

  ‘Do it, Valkia,’ he hissed. ‘Now.’

  They would be the last words he uttered. Valkia sprang forward, putting all her strength into the movement and knocked Radek to the ground. As she knelt astride him, she raised the dagger high.

  ‘For the crime of slaughtering my father, Radek, Warspeaker of the Schwarzvolf, I condemn you to death.’

  She struck downwards and dug the knife deep into his belly, drawing a clenched grunt of agony from the former scout. With a deft slice, she split open his abdomen. That was the point at which Radek finally screamed. He thrashed wildly as glistening organs and ropey guts spilled out on to the sodden earth, mixing his blood with that of the dead chieftain. Valkia let him struggle beneath her weight for a few moments before rising once again to her feet. She cast a gaze around the assembled masses. Her face gave away nothing of what was going on inside her head. Her voice, when she spoke, was leaden.

  ‘See this and mark it well. Such is the fate of the betrayer.’

  She let the dying man squirm for a while, watching as his struggles grew weaker and then took up his sword. She turned the blade of the weapon downwards towards him. The first stroke crunched awkwardly into the bones of the traitor’s neck. The second severed his head in a welter of gore and silenced his voice forever.

  ‘Bring them both,’ said Valkia, stepping back. ‘My father for the rites due his position and the traitor as an example.’ She turned her attention to Eraich. ‘I made you a promise,’ she said. ‘And I keep it. But your people are no longer yours to be concerned about.’ As her blade flashed from left to right across Eraich’s neck and darkness rushed in to claim him, the faintest suggestion of a smile crossed his features. The last words he heard were Valkia’s declaration.

  ‘They are mine.’

  FOUR

  Chieftain’s Daughter

  She felt nothing. Standing beside the corpse of her father, Valkia felt absolutely no grief, no sorrow or even any pleasure at her father’s death. She had travelled back to the village ahead of the funeral procession to deliver the news personally to Kata. Her stepmother had nodded tersely and bitten her lip but had not shed any tears. Weakness was not an option and Valkia respected that. She held little Edan to her closely and Valkia left her alone to find her two little half-sisters.

  It sickened her to hear the wail of grief that came from Kata’s tent as she left, and much of the respect she had once held for her stepmother was lost in that instant.

  The two little girls were only children and they cried when she told them that their father would not be coming back. She didn’t spare them any details. To tell them a lie would be to do them a disservice. She told them that Radek had killed him and was mildly gratified that the elder of the two immediately demanded to know if retribution had been carried out.

  She sent them back to their mother and they disappeared into the yurt scant seconds before the dead chieftain’s body was borne back into camp, carried on the shoulders of the Schwarzvolf warriors. In their wake, Radek was being dragged by the ankles. His body was filthy, having picked up a light coating of leaf mould. A slimy red trail marked his passage across the ground, where what was left of his blood dribbled from the ragged stump of his neck.

  Throughout the camp, whispers had already started. The newcomers, the farming community that Eraich had brought to them were huddled together, staring in fear at the horror unfolding before them.

  It was her moment. Valkia hated Radek for taking this course of action, but in the end, his loyalty to her had been absolute. She owed it to that gesture to grasp the opportunity fully. Edan could not take control of the people. If she didn’t stake her claim right this moment, then the entire tribe would fall to in-fighting.

  She moved to stand by the central hearth in the camp. The flames were low at this hour of the day but soon the fire would be banked, to be used as a central communal cooking area. Now, though, it needed to be used for another purpose entirely.

  The young woman with the close crop of dark hair took only a moment to compose herself and then she spoke in a clear voice that cut through the murmur of low, anxious whispering as cleanly as a knife.

  ‘People of the Schwarzvolf, we have been betrayed.’ Valkia pointed a finger at her dead father. ‘Our Chieftain, our beloved Merroc, lies dead because of the treachery of a man he trusted. A man he loved as a brother and who we all trusted as our Warspeaker.’ She turned the focus from Merroc to Radek. If anybody noticed the slight shake in her voice, they could easily put it down to the emotion of the moment rather than nerves.

  ‘Radek the betrayer.’ She levelled a finger at him. ‘See him there. He lies dead by my hand. Retribution was served instantly, but not before he gave me the truth.’ Now came the lie that she had carefully constructed on the journey back to the village. ‘My father was going to do what was right. He planned to cull the weak from the strong, separate the brave from the cowardly and keep those who could wield their weapons with skill. But Eraich and his men conspired with Radek. They promised him the position of chieftain if he gave his aid to assassinate my father.’ She looked around. She had their attention. There was a sharp intake of breath from the women of Eraich’s tribe, but Valkia ignored it.

  ‘It is no secret that Radek hungered for my father’s position. He agreed to this gutless plot.’ She lowered her finger as she realised just how loyal the men who had witnessed the events were to her. At least she presumed loyalty. It may have been that they were simply reluctant to speak against her. Whatever the reason, not one of them disputed her story. Their fealty gave her a swell of courage. ‘Such treachery could not go unpunished. As such, the people of the hills will be taken into the Schwarzvolf conditional upon their complete, unswerving loyalty. Any of those who do not wish to accept that condition, then consider the alternative.’

  A slow, exceptionally cruel smile spread across her face. ‘The alternative is your own deaths. If you wish to join your menfolk as food for the animals of the woods, then my warriors will gladly aid you in meeting that desire.’ Her green eyes, flat and emotionless mirrors, ranged across the women and children who were new to the hearth. Each one of them bore the same look of grief and misery as the other, but none dared defy her. Weak, Valkia thought. Come the hard months of winter, they would be the first to die.

  She let the lie slide easily from her lips, feeling great pleasure at the conviction in her own voice. Every single person in the camp was hanging on her every
word and that sent a delicious thrill through her. It was time for Valkia to make her final play.

  ‘I mourn the passing of my father,’ she said. ‘In his time, he was a great leader. But age, sickness and a moment of weakness in trusting those traitors led to his death. I am his oldest child. As such, I take up the mantle of leadership in his place.’ She stooped and unhooked her father’s cloak, the symbolic outer representation of the tribe’s leadership. She lay it across her arms and stood defiant, a tall, willowy figure who any of the warriors could easily have broken in two.

  A silence had fallen and only ambient sounds remained. The occasional spit of the fire. A faint breeze rustling through what remained of the autumn leaves still clinging tenaciously to the trees around them. Her own heartbeat pounding in her chest. She kept stock-still, hardly daring to breathe. If there was going to be any challenge to her leadership, it would have to come sooner rather than later.

  ‘Valkia.’

  The single word came from one of the warriors who had not been present at the slaughter. Adok stepped forward and Valkia appraised him through half-lidded eyes. The man was powerfully built, a clear head and shoulders above her. His thick arms were folded across his chest and his square jaw, mostly hidden by a straggly black beard was thrust out in a pugnacious challenge. His intent was obvious to all and they held their collective breath.

  Adok’s next words never saw the light of day. He opened his mouth to speak and could only manage a choked torrent of blood as the tip of Valkia’s spear punched through his throat and cracked his spine. The tribesman stood transfixed by the weapon for several long moments, his mouth opening and closing in a futile effort to gasp a few more moments from the air. Within seconds, the strength drained out of him. Adok toppled to the ground, his head half-severed and his life gushing away onto the cold earth.

  ‘Do any more of you have anything to say?’ She admitted a faint sense of disappointment to herself. She had been keen to prove her worth in the Circle of Blood, but she’d needed to make a swift example and Adok had amply provided. He was... he had been... a superlative warrior. But she was surrounded by those. One would not be missed. And they were all here and they were accepting her claim to leadership without question.

  It did not strike her until much, much later that the reason nobody further disputed her claim was simply that many of them had all been following her command for a long time.

  ‘I have something to say,’ came a quiet voice from behind her. Valkia spun around, her gore-slicked spear levelled. Kata looked up at her stepdaughter, Edan in her arms. ‘Will you spare my children? Will you let them live? It was your father’s wish that Edan take the mantle when he came of age. Will you grant him life until he is old enough to challenge your leadership?’

  Kata was barely recognisable from the competent shieldmaiden who had stood alongside Valkia all those years ago. Her face had aged years in barely an hour. Her eyes were red from crying and there was a dull bleakness in their dark depths. She twisted anxiously at her hair with her free hand, whilst the infant boy reached up to pull at it as well, enjoying the game.

  Damn her. Damn her for asking that question in front of the entire tribe. There was only one answer to the question and Valkia felt the only stirring of guilt she had known since waking that fateful morning.

  But Valkia had discovered a propensity for smooth lies that she had always known she possessed. She looked over at Kata and remembered that day, so many years ago, when the other woman had reassured her whilst standing in the shield line. She remembered the affection she bore for her. She remembered it all and she neatly compartmentalised it and put the thoughts into the back of her mind. She could almost hear Radek’s whispering suggestion.

  It will do you no harm to at least appear benevolent.

  ‘Of course, Kata,’ she replied eventually and lowered her weapon. There was no real threat, unless the traditionalists of the Schwarzvolf turned their backs on her because of her gender. And right now, that certainly didn’t seem likely. No doubt it could be arranged for the infant boy to meet with an unfortunate accident once he was old enough to join the hunt.

  The thought came so easily to Valkia that she was almost shocked at her own duplicity.

  Almost.

  Her stepmother nodded her thanks and stepped back with the child clutched tightly in her hands. She watched Valkia for a few moments longer and then returned to the comparative privacy of her tent.

  Where she will no doubt howl like a dog over the death of that puny weakling.

  Her lip curled in a slight sneer, Valkia’s eyes roamed the assembled tribe once again. Silence had fallen and when she had waited long enough, she nodded. ‘Then for my first command, I order the burning of my father’s body as he would have desired. His ashes will be cast to the four winds. He wished for the Schwarzvolf to winter here in the Vale and I will respect that.’

  Valkia knelt before her father’s body and closed the staring, dead eyes that were boring into her accusingly. ‘Members of the Circle – an immediate meeting will be necessary. I will be seeking a new Warspeaker.’ She stood and cast her gaze at the mangled corpse of Radek.

  ‘As for that one,’ she said, and she had to work hard to keep the catch from her voice, ‘let his skin be stripped from his bones by the carrion birds. Bring the bodies of the traitors from the woods and string them all up at the edges of camp so that anybody who considers betrayal can be reminded of the cost.’

  At these words, the new members of the tribe began to weep; some softly and with control, others wailing hysterically. Valkia turned the full force of her stare on them.

  ‘Stop it,’ she ordered in a tone that brokered no argument. ‘Stop that noise. You should be glad that I choose to show clemency at all. My own people…’ It was the first time she had said that and it had been the absolute truth. It filled her with pleasure. ‘My own people will go without this winter to ensure you and your squalling whelps are fed. Show some gratitude – or go back to the hills. Circle. The tent of the chieftain. Now.’ The wailing dropped to a level where all that could be heard were chokes and the occasional sob.

  Having made her decree – and her position very clear – Valkia strode to the yurt used for the meetings of the Circle. She passed Kata’s yurt on the way and ignored the sound of sobbing from within. Without pause or respect, she pushed her way into the tent. Kata, who had been curled in a ball on the floor, looked up, deeply shamed by being found in such a manner.

  No words passed between the two women but Valkia eventually spoke. ‘Give him the rites due his station as chieftain, Kata,’ she said. ‘I put you in charge of overseeing the funeral.’

  Kata’s eyes were bright, but she shed no more tears. She bit her lip and nodded.

  ‘As my chieftain wishes.’ Her voice cracked on the word and she turned her head away. Valkia watched her with thoughtful eyes and then left her.

  ‘I dislike the title “chieftain”.’

  If her opening statement surprised the Circle, none of them showed it. They were already in a state of wary shock from the sudden death of Merroc. She had taken her position at the head of the Circle, lounging amid the furs that until barely hours ago had belonged to her father. There was a lingering stench of him, she noticed. She would burn the furs and replace them with her own. A heavy, uncertain peace had settled over the gathering and that merely served to fan the flames of her irritation. She pointed at the Godspeaker who sat slightly behind and to the right of her.

  ‘We need to consider the skeins of fate,’ she said imperiously. The Godspeaker inclined his head graciously.

  ‘The moment you end this gathering, my ch... my... chieftainess? The moment you do that, then we shall do so.’

  ‘Chieftainess.’ Valkia screwed up her face in distaste. ‘I like that even less. Until something more appropriate comes to mind, I will be called “hetwoman”.’ Valkia tried the word a couple of times and nodded. ‘Yes. That will suffice, I think. Now, to more important mat
ters. Firstly, we need to replace the Warspeaker.’

  ‘With respect, Valkia,’ said Hepsus, one of Merroc’s most favoured warriors. He was in his early twenties, a thick-set man with wiry red hair and a curling beard. He was a vicious man and rarely spoke unless he thought that it was necessary. Valkia turned her expressionless stare on him and was gratified to see him baulk. ‘With respect, hetwoman,’ he said, amending his tone of address with obvious distaste, ‘the chieftain is barely cold. We need to take stock of what has happened.’

  ‘There is no need,’ Valkia shot back. ‘Those who were present during the hunt will tell you what happened. The treacherous fool Eraich plotted and schemed the very idea of my father’s assassination with Radek.’ She leaned back slightly. ‘Is there any part of that which you do not understand? Perhaps if I were to speak more slowly?’

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ responded Hepsus with a faint sneer. ‘None of the Circle were present for this alleged meeting. We have only your word...’

  ‘Is that not good enough for you?’ Something changed in Valkia’s voice then, and the harsh snap became a thrumming purr. ‘Come, Hepsus. We have known one another all our lives. Have I ever lied to you?’

  ‘No, but...’

  ‘Then surely my word should be all you need.’ It was not a question. It was a statement and Hepsus instinctively knew that to push further would invite unpleasantness. He dropped into sullen silence and she gave him a look of approval. Her arrogance came so easily; but then it always had done.

  She continued as though the interruption had not happened, drumming her long fingers against the skin of her thigh. ‘Radek was an excellent Warspeaker, whatever his ultimate failing may have been. Replacing him will not be an easy task.’ Her tongue ran across her lips as she considered. ‘I propose that those who consider themselves suitable for the position present themselves in three days time and we will open up the Circle of Blood to them. A good Warspeaker must be a tenacious Warspeaker. The one still standing at the end of the fight will be our candidate.’